April Showers
by medusamaiden28
Summary: She left him to find herself. If only she had known where the road less traveled would lead her to.
1. A Distant Rumbling

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of this Harry Potterverse.

 **Chapter 1 - A Distant Rumbling**

"I can't do this anymore," she let out, the words ghosting across her lips. Her head was hung, letting her hair drape across her face. It hid the shame she felt, the guilt of giving up, and the lurch in her stomach of what was to come.

"You can't _do this_ anymore?" he spat back at her.

Head still hung, if only to avoid confrontation for another minute, she felt that lurch give way in her stomach. This was it, this was what she had been running over in her head as she lay in bed, tracing the cracks in the ceiling. As she had sipped coffee, as she had showered the soap from her hair, and as she had knocked on the door only minutes earlier.

Be brave, be strong, she reminded herself. You are worth so much more.

She shook her head in reply and then delicately took his hand, turned it over, and unfolded his fingers. As she turned on the steps to leave, she could hear him open his mouth to say something, but no words followed her down to the sidewalk. He was left speechless. Standing in his doorway, clasping the engagement ring in his fist.

They never did make sense. It had always just felt like it should be that way. Not out love or even lust, but simply due to memories and time. We hold onto the people we feel we share the most memories with, even after recognizing that the relationship has past its own expiration date. Like trying to blow up an already deflated balloon, we prolong some relationships in our lives, despite knowing they're already over.

We fear being alone, without friends, and without love. But perhaps we are truly afraid of what we might find in ourselves when loneliness comes to call.

As she walked, the clouds that had been teeming with moisture began to find release. First in a soft drizzle, but soon in an onslaught of drops that showed no sign of stopping. She flung up her hood, meticulously tucking her hair underneath and quickly apparated away from Chudley for the last time.

A/N: Read? Review! This is my hobby, so be nice. But not too nice. More to come!


	2. Localized Showers

Chapter 2 – Localized Showers

She moved with the huddled masses through the glistening streets of the inner boroughs. Weaving mindlessly through the maze of cobbled alleys, bright thoroughfares, and down into the depths of the underground. She needed this right now; to be digested by the city.

As she stood on the platform and waited for the air of the oncoming train to wash over her, she thumbed something in her pocket. With half-lidded eyes, she let herself dream of what the piece of paper in her pocket meant. The escape was brief as the train arrived and the hustle for room brought her back to reality.

The familiar click of the lock made her body release and as she closed the door, she felt her face tighten and throat clench. She gave into the tidal wave of emotion, allowing it to wash over her and push her to the floor. She felt like she was drowning as the sobs wracked through her chest and she gasped for air.

When the waters finally receded, she continued to lay on the floor. She had noticed the room had become brighter. It seemed the sun had fought its way through the clouds and was now dancing across her ceiling. The rain had stopped.

For the first time in months, Hermione felt hopeful as she watched the golden hues shift playfully around the apartment. She lifted herself off the floor and stared around at the hordes of brown boxes. Teetering precariously high, though knowingly secured in place. She spent the night briefly mourning the loss of expected love and the next morning she was gone.

"Hermione, really, come take a job at the Ministry. Why are you making this so hard on yourself?" Harry insisted, pacing around his living room.

"I just keep doing what is expected of me and I can't keep walking this path that I didn't find for myself, it doesn't feel right. Maybe one day I'll work at the Ministry, but I first need to find my own way. I need to figure out who I am without you, without Ron, and without war permeating everything," her eyes were open wide, pleading with him to understand.

Harry stood for a moment by the fireplace, losing himself in the flames. He understood of course, and he had often wished he had given himself the same time. But love with Ginny came hard and fast after the war and instead of finding himself on his own, he found himself in her.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" he asked, continuing to look away from her.

"A year, maybe more?" she said, biting at her lip and feeling agitated by the unknown.

Harry gave a curt nod of understanding and moved to give her a hug.

"I'll let everyone know, don't you worry about that. Be safe and write when you can, okay?" Harry said, holding her away from him so he could look at her.

As she nodded as they let each other go. She gave him a quick smile as she apparated away from his countryside home.

She had set herself up in her families cottage on the southern shores of Ireland. Close enough to civilization, but far enough away that at night she could hear the waves lapping at the cliffs.

At first, the months dragged and it felt like reality was prodding her, making Hermione feel as if she had been misguided in leaving everything behind. But soon time began to slip away, like sand careening through an hourglass.

She began to find joy and solace in menial tasks. Shopping for groceries without whispers trailing after her and hanging her laundry to try without it ending up in the paper. To be free of the stigma and unwanted fame from the war was a welcome relief.

Just shy of 6 months, on a wet afternoon in March, Hermione was putting on her rain jacket. As she dipped her hand into her pocket, she felt something. Curious as to what rubbish was hiding there, she pulled it out and saw it was crumpled paper. "Hm, hello little paper, what might you be?" she mused to herself as she began to unravel it.

As soon as the last edge was flattened, she immediately remembered. The memories of that day stroking her limbic system and making her teem with emotions. The weight of the memories began to take hold and Hermione sat down. This little piece of parchment had been the catalyst in upheaving her entire life.

 _ **6 months, 3 days earlier...**_

"The Chudley Cannons face off today against the Falmouth Falcons in a _FIERCE_ battle for 3rd overall!" roared the announcer, holding his wand against his neck.

Piercing orange faded into a sea of dark grey and white as the quidditch loyalists began to fill the stadium. Hermione had come out to support Ron, donning an orange scarf with his team number on it. She quickly weaved her way to the washroom first, she knew Ron would be livid if she missed something and goodness knew how long this match might go on.

After finishing up, she paused outside of the washroom and peered at her ticket stub again, checking her seat number. Looking up, she unintentionally caught the gaze of someone she hadn't seen in years.

"Orange looks terrible on you, Granger," Draco chided casually.

Hermione reached up self consciously to loosen the scarf and caught Draco looking at her engagement ring. For a fleeting moment, she felt very small.

"Don't make me laugh, you're actually going to marry that prat?" Draco goaded with a smirk.

Hermione felt her body tense as her anger flared. How dare he question her personal life, she thought, turning to ignore him. Even still, he continued on, taking her silence as a yes.

"Seriously? Wow, I didn't think you'd just settle for what was in arms reach," he said flippantly.

The rage bubbling under the surface was almost too much and she turned to go, not wanting to cause a scene. But before she could, Draco held something out to her.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, annoyed he was still prolonging the interaction.

"If you ever change your mind," he said, continuing to hold it out, his eyes locked on hers.

Frowning, but eager to leave, Hermione reluctantly took the paper from his hands and shoved it in her pocket. And with that, it was over.

As Hermione walked to her seat, she found herself obscenely curious about what was on the piece of paper. Out of pure stubbornness, she stuck her nose up at the idea. How was she even entertaining the idea of looking? Yet, the longer she ignored it, the more it felt as if it were burning a hole right through her pocket, daring to catch her on fire.

"Oh, sod it," she muttered, stopping in the secluded artery of the stands. The distant roar of cheering rattled the wooden framing and she felt the vibration surround her as she pulled the paper out. Careful not to drop it, she unfolded the note and frowned at what it said: ' _Jetty's End'._

"Is this suppose to mean something? Ridiculous," She thought, rolling her eyes and shoving the paper back in her pocket. She felt herself internalizing the peculiar sense of disappointment that was welling up in her. Letting out a deep breath, she continued to her seat to cheer on her fiancé.

00

A/N: Read? Review! I wanted to make them meeting up as authentic as possible. Not contrived or forced, so hopefully it felt genuine.


	3. Chance of Sun

**Chapter 3 – Chance of Sun**

Hermione sunk into the closest armchair and tossed the piece of paper on the side table. She sat for a moment and ran over everything in her head. It was best to forget it for now and go for her walk. The fresh air would help clear her mind.

She walked along the uneven beach path; frowning as her thoughts drifted back to the quidditch match. It hadn't been Draco showing up or the mysterious note, it was what he had said.

Those words had lurked in her dreams and sought validation. It wasn't until she heard it from someone else that she knew all of her worries and deeply entrenched thoughts were justified. She couldn't continue to push them down any longer.

They had fought constantly and didn't even live together. Ron had been living in Chudley after being signed to the Cannons and Hermione had been living in London, working odd jobs to pass the time. She didn't feel she knew herself enough to commit to the jobs that were being handed to her.

Auror? Professor? Neither appealed to her. She wanted more, she wanted to make a bigger impact. Ron fought with her about how she was squandering opportunities and being stubborn. She wanted to earn it and he just couldn't understand.

The first time Hermione knew Ron was cheating on her was when she had visited his place and had found lipstick. It had rolled under the bed, something easy enough to miss when you're leaving in a hurry. She still wasn't sure if it was to save face or to skip the argument, but she had put it in her pocket and never said anything. Who knows why we do these things, to cover it up for others or to cover it up for ourselves? She didn't know.

From that moment on, Hermione felt a shift in their relationship. She could feel it slipping away from her with every word that was spoken, but more the words that were not.

Hermione continued to walk along the beach and up to the craggy cliffs, remembering the argument that had culminated the end of their relationship.

 _A day after the match, Hermione had intended to stay over at Ron's, but had been asked to stay late at St. Mungo's. She had been working a couple nights a week as an apprentice healer, which meant she was either tailing one of the night-shift workers or making sure the patients were comfortable. She felt humbled by the job and was happy to help._

 _After sending Ron an owl and not hearing back, she could feel something nipping at her, emotionally prodding her as she followed after the night healer. She tried her best to ignore it, but couldn't seem to shake the uneasy feeling._

 _It was late when she had walked up the steps to her building. She had just turned the key when she heard something behind her._

" _Sure took you long enough to get home," said Ron, stepping out from the shadows._

" _Oh, Ron, you scared me! What are you doing here? Didn't you get my owl?" she asked.  
_

" _Oh yeah, I got your sodding owl," he threw back._

 _Hermione was surprised by his harsh tone, but continued._

" _... Okay, but you didn't need to come? I told you'd I'd be late, I hadn't expected it."_

" _Yeah, I bet you didn't. What, off with some new bloke?" he spat._

" _Excuse me?!" Hermione let out, now completely confused._

" _You go around telling me you don't need a job, that you're finding yourself. Yet, here you are, 'working late' all the time and cancelling our plans," he rambled, getting himself worked up._

" _How dare you accuse me of seeing someone else. We both know I'm not the one who'd do something like that," she seethed._

" _What are you on about? If have something to say, then say it," Ron threw back._

 _Silenced by her own inner monologue, she ran through the options and the subsequent outcomes of what she was about to say._

" _I know you're cheating on me."_

" _Come off it," Ron scoffed. "You're the one slaggin' around. Everyone says so."_

 _It was as if there was a door at the bottom of her stomach and she had started to fall through._

" _How dare you, I would never," she said, voice trembling as she defended herself._

 _Rolling his eyes and stepping closer, she could feel the anger radiating off of him. A hint of uncertainty coursed through her, but she didn't back away._

" _Ron, please. I'm looking for you to be honest, not accusatory," she pleaded._

" _Don't make me laugh, you're just looking for an easy way out!"_

 _She had known Ron long enough to see through to his insecurities. He often feigned hostility to cover up hurt. Anger to cover up sadness. This was no different, but she couldn't figure out why he was doing it. Why he still chose to act out instead of own up._

 _Wanting to be the bigger person, but genuinely hurt by his words, Hermione couldn't help herself._

" _I expected more after all this time. If I left you now, it would be entirely on you. You've created stories in your head that don't exist. I knew you were insecure, but this is just absurd. You're acting like a petulant child!"_

 _In a swift movement, Ron raised his hand as if to hit her, but froze as he found himself looking down the tip of Hermione's wand._

" _Don't you ever raise your hand at me again, Ronald," she warned through gritted teeth, backing away from him._

 _He immediately tried to apologize, but it too late as Hermione yelled at him to leave. Without much protest, he threw up his hands and left._

 _Her body was overcome with tremors from the adrenaline and anguish. He had never done anything like that before, but she could feel in her bones that if she continued to see him, continued to ignore his behaviour, that next time she might be not be so quick with her wand. And in that moment, she decided that there wouldn't be a next time._

 _Two days later she returned the ring._

Brought back by the crash of the waves, Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She took a moment to look out across the white capped ocean. The wind was starting to pick up, but some sun was breaking through the clouds. Maybe there would soon be a chance of sun, she thought.

000

Dinner had quelled something in her and she felt like settling in with a good book and a glass of wine. The sun had set long ago and the house had begun to settle. It creaked and moaned with the bursts of wind off of the ocean and Hermione felt as if it were singing to her. She lit the fire place and settled into the plush armchair. As she placed her glass down on the table and pursed her lips at the crumpled note. Nope, I don't care about that right now, she thought and playfully flicked the paper off the table and onto the floor.

The heat from the fire was radiating out and brushing against her skin as she opened up her book. She had just brought the wine glass to her lips as her subconscious mind lit up. She had figured it out. Curiosity piqued, she looked from the fireplace to the crumpled paper on the floor.

"...Maybe," she said thoughtfully.

Never one to shy away from finding answers, Hermione abandoned her book and stood tall in front of the flames. She extinguished the fire and used her wand to stretch the fireplace out until she could comfortably stand inside. Taking a pinch of powder from her mantle, she threw it down and clearly said, "Jetty's End."

000

Hermione was spit out the other side and thrown onto the stone floor. She quickly picked herself up, eyes darting around the room. The fireplace had let her out into a dark, musty kitchen. An ancient planked table spanned the length of the room and a thin layer of dust was covering it. Soon she realized that everything seemed to be covered in dust and she wondered if she had ended up in the right place.

Maybe she had said the name wrong? Maybe this was supposed to be a joke at her expense?

Groaning at her foolishness, Hermione was about to go back home, when she heard a small flittering sound. She turned to see a sealed envelope hovering above the table. It then swayed downward, kicking dust particles into the air. Cautiously moving towards it, she saw that the envelope was addressed to: _**Unknown Guest.**_ She picked up the letter and broke open the wax seal, pulling the note from inside.

 _Dear Unknown Guest,_

 _This property is a private residence belonging to the prestigious Malfoy family. If you have come uninvited, please vacated immediately or suffer the consequences._

 _If you have come by way of invitation, please utilize the property as your own and enjoy your stay._

 _Note: The lighthouse and its subsequent living quarters are strictly forbidden._

 _Utmost thanks,_

 _Keepers of the Light_

The name _Jetty's End_ made more sense now knowing there was a lighthouse close by. No wonder it felt so drafty, the house must be right next to the water. She still felt unsure about staying, but the nagging desire to look around seemed to overpower everything. She pocketed the letter and quickly found a door from the kitchen that led outside.

As she forced open the sturdy wooden door, she was immediately overcome by the spray of salt water in her face and wind through her hair. Instinctively, she squinted her eyes against the onslaught and peered as far as she could in the darkness. Quickly, to her shock, she noticed that this was less of jetty and more of an island. After battling with the wind, she forced the door closed and started to venture around the property. She pulled her sweater shut and hugged her body.

"A jacket would have been smart," she said, scolding herself.

As she rounded the first corner, she caught sight of the looming nautical beacon. It was almost twice the size of the house, stark white, and topped with red. The dirt path towards it was well worn and lined with windswept grass, permanently tilted to accommodate the force. As she walked, she noticed there was a slight cliff around most of the island and she could hear the waves lapping at its shores below.

In the dim light, she could see how the path wound haphazardly down a hill and then aggressively back up to a red front door. She felt the need to press on, to investigate further, but remembered that the entirety of the lighthouse was off limits. Biting her lip, she relinquished. Another day, she thought.

Finding her way back to the kitchen, she lit up her wand and explored the rest of the house. An unassuming door led her into a short hallway, which led off into three other rooms. A sitting room, a small bedroom with a bathroom, and a tiny office which had views of the ocean and the light house.

What Hermione found most peculiar was that the whole of the house was completely furnished and ready to be lived in. Yet, it felt as if no one had been there in years. Not just due to the dust, but she could feel the emptiness. A chill traveled up her spine that pushed her to look around into the darkness.

The wooden floors sung under her feet as she made her way through the rooms. Ghosting her hands over shelves and furniture, she tried to will their secrets out.

The windows started to rattle violently against the wind and Hermione yawned. Her body was working against her desire to keep going.

I'll come back tomorrow, she thought.

000 

Back home and secure under a knitted wool blanket, she quietly mulled over what she had just experienced.

Why had Draco given her access to his property?

Should she try to contact him to find out?

She laughed, no way she was going to contact him. With her luck, he'd accuse her of trespassing or something equally ridiculous. With a large sigh, she grabbed her book once more and opened it up to where she had left off.

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Partially Cloudy

**Disclaimer:** **I** don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

 **Partially Cloudy**

Draco was in the sitting room at Malfoy Manor when the talisman began to heat up against his chest. With a smirk, he put down the book he had been reading and pulled up a ring that was strung on a silver chain. He held it up, feeling it warm the tips of his fingers. Inspecting it, he eyed the silver snake that had begun its coiled dance around the circumference.

"Hello again, old friend," he mused to the snake.

Tucking the necklace back under his shirt, Draco got up and walked to the window. Darkness had already fallen, but the moon was bright and painted its light across the manor grounds. He quietly cursed and he willed himself why he had meddled in the business of others.

 _After a few solid, shoulder grips, Draco wished the Falcons a good game and pushed his way through the heavy tent flaps and into the dewy morning. He took a deep breathe, feeling the crisp air sink deep into his lungs. Feeling surprisingly invigorated, he started to make his way to the pitch. Sporting events weren't his usual haunt, but he couldn't miss the Falcon's decimating the Cannons._

 _As he wound his way through the labyrinth of team tents, a flash of red caught his eye. A reactionary glance down a thruway brought him to see Weasley: hair being tussled by an orange-clad blonde, hand precariously high up her shirt, and head buried in the nape of her neck._

 _Draco must have scoffed out loud, for Ron had looked up abruptly, gave him a once over, and said, "Oi, piss off Malfoy. Mind your own damn business!"_

 _Surprised, but amused, Draco chuckled to himself and playfully tossed up a hand, replying, "I care so little about your business, Weasley."_

 _Ignoring Ron, who was flipping him off, he continued on to the stadium._

 _As he walked through the heavily saturated grass, his thoughts drifted to the bushy haired girl who had met him with so much grief over the years. And rightly so, he had been an absolute prick. Though in his defence, he had been brought up to be that way. Intrinsically, he hadn't ever felt right about completing tasks for the Dark Lord, but he knew he had to. It wasn't as if he had been given a choice, it was very clear that if he weren't compliant, he or his family would suffer dire consequences. Although he could have cared less about his father, he would have done anything to protect his mother._

 _He knew, of course, that Weasley and Granger were together. Any news about them or Potter was plastered over all of the newspapers and tabloids. If they had spilt up, it would have been everywhere._

 _Bogged down by his thoughts and newfound conscience, he almost missed her. He hadn't gone looking for her, hell, he hadn't even known if she would be there! Yet, there she was: wavy hair and hideous scarf._

 _He stopped in his tracks and watched her disappear into the washroom._

 _Damn it. Now he had to say something._

 _No. No, he didn't. He could just walk past and go to his seat. No need to meddle in the sordid affairs of others. He had enough issues of his own._

 _He tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. What had got into him? He rummaged quickly in his pocket and found some parchment. After inscribing it, he rolled his eyes and fisted the note. This was incredibly rash._

 _He didn't have to wait long before he saw her coming back out. Distracted and looking down, she hadn't seen him until he made a smart quip about her scarf. It truly was an awful colour._

 _Still ripe with the image of Weasley taking advantage that blonde, he noticed her engagement ring . He quickly chided her and, as expected, she was angry with his seemingly presumptuous accusations. In a moment, he could have changed his mind, but the parchment was burning into his skin and he needed to be rid of it._

 _Holding it out, she had asked him what it was._

 _He chose to be cryptic about it, figuring that if she knew what it was, she'd probably would never go._

 _Watching her puzzled expression turn to into exasperation, she grabbed the parchment from his hands and he felt instantly felt unburdened._

"Fuck," he breathed, running a hand through his hair.

"Lorik, if Mother asks, please tell her I had to go tend to some business," Draco said, speaking into the empty, partially lit room.

With a quick popping sound, the house-elf appeared with clasped hands and a bowed head. "Of course, Master," he said and then quickly disappeared again.

A when Draco was alone once more, he gave himself no time to second guess his decision.

000

He knew she was in the house, but so far there had been no sign of her.

He filled up an old, black kettle with water and placed the tip of his wand against the side. Soon, steam was screeching out the spout and forcing its way around the seal of the lid. He set it aside to cool down and went back to look out the window.

For a moment, he didn't think he would see anything, but he then saw someone step out around the house and start walking slowly towards the lighthouse.

He knew it was her right away and watched as she peered at the lighthouse. He could almost hear the gears turning. He knew she probably wanted to come further, but he hoped she wouldn't. The letter generated by the wards warns against it and he banked on that being enough, at least for now.

Hiding slightly off to the side, not wanting to risk being seen, he watched as her hunched figure braved the wind and disappeared. He waited several minutes and assumed she had gone back home. He was in the middle of gathering some papers to take back to the manor when he looked up to see a small light. It was very soft and subtle, but he could see light floating between the rooms. And as soon as it was there, it was gone.

This was a bad idea, he thought. Why had he done this?

Truth be told... Draco knew exactly why he had given her access. He had felt something akin to protectiveness that day. He felt ridiculous thinking about it that way, but it was same feeling he felt towards his mother.

His father, now years in Azkaban, had once held a firm fist over his wife. Quite literally, at times. Draco had been privy to this almost most of his life. Hell, he had felt it first hand as well. His father didn't feel the need to discriminate between wife and child. Equal shares all around.

Prior to the war, after years of putting up with his father, Draco had cleverly siphoned money from a shared family account at Gringott's. Thankfully, his father had been so heavily engaged in the return of the Dark Lord, that he didn't seem to notice. Draco still wasn't sure how he would have explained the hundreds of thousands of missing galleons. He probably would have said it was for school: new broom, books, robes, and so on.

In reality, he used the money to buy Jetty's End.

He had gifted it to his Mother as a refuge from his father. Ever the lady of high society, she had brushed off Draco's concern. Saying it was just 'how it was' and 'that's just how men can be'. Refusing to accept that, he continued to offer. By way of hushed voices and private owls, his mother finally agreed to see the property.

This beacon in the night became something similar for his mother. It guided her through the darkest days and the stormiest weather. Draco never got or expected thanks or gratitude. It was enough to know she was safe when he couldn't be there to protect her.

He never breathed a word of it to anyone. By doing so would have put his mother at risk. If his father had known she was hiding from him and that Draco had helped her? He didn't like thinking about the might have beens.

He may have been perceived as egocentric and self serving, but he felt a deep-seated responsibility to help people in the same position. At least if the opportunity for help presented itself, which up until this point, had never happened.

Word gets around the teams, mostly hearsay, but some so thoroughly reiterated that they had to be true. Draco financially backed the Falcons and often found himself in the company of the players. As the drinks started flowing, so did the stories and seemingly, Weasley liked to play rough and not just on the pitch.

The rumour went that players had seen girls leaving Weasley's company looking rather distraught. Word around the British and Irish Quidditch League, was that he had quite the temper.

Now, he had been unsure if the rumours rang true or even if they extended to Granger - but he felt as if he were 17 again, being presented a situation he had means of fixing.

He felt obligated to help her.

000 

A/N: Maybe that Draco isn't so mean after all! ;) Thanks for reading!


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